Repercussions
by theatrics
Summary: The aftermath of the fight between Santana Lopez and Lauren Zizes. Brittana.


Black and blue, battered and bruised- her consciousness dwindled as she was carted to the nurse's office. Perhaps she had been murmuring incoherently to herself, or perhaps it was the deafening throb of her head, but she knew that she had heard some sort of sound or voice. Aching, she leisurely blinked her eyes. Everything was brown and black, and she found that her eyes were offended by the sudden onslaught of light as she was carried through the door that would present her to the school's nurse.

"Got the snot beaten out of her in a fight, Ms. Phillips," came the gruff rumble of McKinley High's football coach- that ghastly woman (or was she even?).

"Santana Lopez," crowed the nurse with patent indifference. "Why am I not surprised? Set her over there on the examining table."

Something akin to feral annoyance surged within the belly of the brunette as Coach Beiste attempted some sort of grace in her movement to lie Santana on the table. If the football coach was trying to be gentle, she had failed desperately, for as Santana's back collided with the table, she had to bite back an eye-rolling groan.

"Take care now, y'hear- Santana, was it?"

"Mmphf."

Santana couldn't be damned to open her mouth as she laid there, eyes closed and mind astray. In any case, she hadn't asked that creature to wheel her in here in the first place. She would have been fine on her own, sans nurse. God damn people always butting into her god-damned business all the god-damned time.

There were footsteps, though, followed by the click of the door being shut. The offensive noises only ended with the manhandling of the curtain that led to the exam room. Her mind was hazy, but Santana was certain that the nurse was probably near.

"Where's it hurt, sugar?" asked Nurse Phillips flatly. "You know, Miss Lopez, your sorry behind shoulda been expelled by now, comin' in here all the time- bruised and hurt from somethin' that shouldn't'na been happenin' in the first place."

There was that sensation in the pit of her stomach again: raw fury. Had she been feline in nature, she would have bristled. She shoved away her foggy sense of awareness for a moment but stubbornly kept her eyes closed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," her words were mildly slurred at first. "I must have blacked out on the moment when I asked for your damned opinion," the sentence was spat with venomous intent as she tried to swing herself up and away from the nurse's prying hands. "I'm fine; don't touch me."

"Watch your mouth, young lady," hissed the equally irritated doctor's assistant. "Look, I ain't got time for none'a this nonsense. Are you hurt or not?"

Her body practically _screamed_ 'yes.' Oh, god, how her rib cage wailed with anguish! She had broken many ribs before; she knew the feeling. By the way that her chest scraped so vindictively at her insides with needle-sharp knives, Santana knew that she had broken at least one rib, if not several.

"No."

The nurse rolled her eyes.

"Whatever you say, Miss Lopez, but I'm callin' your mother. I don't have the mind to deal with you again today."

With that said, the nurse tugged the latex gloves from her own hands and tossed them uncaringly in the nearby trash.

"Wait in here, and try not to cause any more trouble than you already have, you hear?"

Santana's eyes drifted away from her to the ceiling as she took another excruciating gulp of air. Once the curtain was shut, giving her privacy, she almost instantly tossed her arms around herself. It was as though she was melting into her own embrace, trying to ease the villainous pain in her ribs, but she knew it would do no good.

Cursing beneath her breath, she thought of her father. He would just tell her as he always had after these delinquent escapades- that he couldn't mend a broken rib, that this would be her lesson for all the hell she yearned to raise... that he was disappointed in her. She scowled and balled her fists.

That was when she heard the pounding feet through the thin walls, the rush of the nurse's office door nearly being flung off the hinges; and then-

"Where is she?"

The voice was a frenzied yelp. The voice was Brittany.

"Miss Pierce! You can't just come barg-"

"Santana! Where is Santana?" begged the blonde as Santana tried not to attempt to see through the opaque curtains.

"Miss Pierce, she's in the exam room. Now, I'm gonna have to ask you to keep your voice do-"

Santana didn't hear another word of Ms. Phillips' warning. She only heard the peeling of curtains, the whistle of her own sharp and throbbing intake of breath. Squinting against the new arrival of light, she watched as Brittany's body took shape. The brunette's heart careened into the hollow of her chest.

"San!" Brittany whined, rushing to her. "Oh, San! I was so worried!" she aimed to fling her arms around Santana, and- in spite of her white-hot, burning pain- the ex-cheerleader allowed her to do so. She bit the inside of her bottom lip, her tongue, to keep from crying out in pain from the tender embrace. Santana, for a moment, could only nuzzle the curve beneath her chin into her best friend's shoulder to dull the hurt.

"I'm fine, B."

"Why did you do it?" whimpered the blonde. "San, why did you pick a fight with Lauren?"

"Because-!"

It all seemed so simple. 'Tell her you were jealous,' spoke her mind- an entity that Santana never trusted. 'Tell her you were stupid,' whirred her heart- an entity that Santana feared to heed.

Sitting there, Brittany standing before her, blue eyes glistening with tears, Santana felt small and childish. She averted her gaze.

"I don't know."

There was silence then, but it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, as summer-sky blue mingled with chocolate brown, there was an unspoken solace- a natural and lucid implication of forgiveness. Brittany reached out to very gently touch the bend of Santana's knee.

"Did you hurt your ribs again, San?" she wondered, her brow-line quivering as she appeared to be staving off tears again. Guilt nearly overwhelmed Santana then, but she willed herself to look into the other girl's eyes. She owed her that. "You did, didn't you?"

"I-"

Santana, though the answer seemed so simple, knew not what to say. In the end, here she was, rendered incapable in the face of Brittany Susan Pierce: the only person who had ever made her feel so uncertain and yet so utterly complete.

Brittany took Santana's left hand in hers and squeezed it as she crawled up onto the examining table with her to sit.

"It's okay. I'll take care of you, San," promised Brittany as she laced their fingers poignantly. "I won't let that mean nurse yell at you anymore or that Lauren throw you into lockers."

The corner of Santana's lips couldn't help but quiver into a brief and fulfilling smile. With a subtle 'coo' of endearment, she swallowed and nodded her head.

"Thanks, Britt. I owe you again, don't I?"

Brittany, who was kicking her legs slightly as she stared ahead at an eye exam letter chart, giggled softly and grinned.

"I can't add so well, but I think I stopped counting ever since you pushed that girl off the jungle-y gym in fourth grade after she hit you with that stick."

It was unexpected and painful, but Santana failed to fight off a laugh.

"God damn, you still remember that?"

"'Course I do. She scratched up your beautiful face so bad, San. You got blood all over your new cheerleading uniform," Brittany's lips fell into a stance of sadness as she turned to look at her long-time best friend. Santana's stomach burned at the veiled compliment, but then she stroked the top of Brittany's hand.

"See? Your memory's not so bad."

"What?"

Santana relented with a reassuring smile.

"Nothing, B," she ignored the rush of numbing pain in her chest as she wiggled her left shoulder to brush it against Brittany's. "Just sit with me and hold my hand until my mom picks us up, okay?"

Brittany beamed, and Santana knew that the other girl was pleased to be included in her future check-out of school. That was how it always was, after all. If one of them was hurt or sick while at school, the other was practically _expected_ to follow the injured or ill one to care for them. It was how they had always operated, since grade school.

The blonde stirred quietly as she settled, contentedly stroking the length of Santana's arm. The dark-haired teenager could scarcely believe how she could feel so- so _good_ despite how terribly her body ached, but she simply could not help herself. She had to smile. The marvel of the moment was undeniable.

"Hey, San?"

"Hm?" she breathed easily as her eyes moved to look at Brittany out of their corners.

"Sorry for hugging you earlier. I wasn't thinking, and I know it hur-"

"Shh," Santana rested their hands on the crest of Brittany's nearest thigh. "You know you never have to apologize to me."

And then Brittany took to smiling again, and that was all the distraction that Santana needed to hinder the effects of her injuries.


End file.
